


Salt, Silver, & Blood

by Jenshih_Blue



Series: Abaddon - Queen of Hell [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1202188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Often the best-laid plans go pear-shaped, but Abaddon refuses to let anyone else weave her destiny. Using others is her forte and she’s damn good at it. This plan though has far more loose threads than even she can imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt, Silver, & Blood

Clouds swelled in the northern sky, gathering in what seemed to be a coming storm, their billowing darkness growing with each passing minute. He stood staring out across the stretch of blinding white toward the mountains in the distance and considered how the world around him seemed to reflect his own inner turmoil. He’d needed some space to consider his recent actions. This was the only place he’d deemed safe from most supernatural beings. The Bonneville Salt Flats humans called this place and in the distance, caught between the brightness of the flats and sky were what they referred to as the Silver Island Mountains.

 

He sat down, legs folded, long graceful fingers tracing patterns in the granules of natural salts, thoughts a million miles away. Deep inside he chastised himself for being so desperate for forgiveness he was willing to do what he’d done. Another part of his mind informed him Metatron should never be trusted “Voice of God” he might have been, but that didn’t make him trustworthy especially not in this new world order.

 

And then there was the voice of reason, one he knew was not a part of who he was, but rather the human he’d possessed. He’d lied to Dean when he said there was no more Sam. Sam wasn’t that easy to get rid of and what remained of him lingered in the dark corners of the vessel. He’d only said those things to break Dean to keep him at arm’s length. It had worked so far, but what he felt, what he was experiencing was something he hadn’t felt since he failed his father at the Gates of Eden.

 

Humans called it guilt.

 

He didn’t want this guilt. He wanted it to fade as the seasons faded into one another, but Sam refused to allow it. The voice of his vessel haunted him, growing stronger with each passing day. Its main concern the brother left behind when Gadreel had walked out of the bunker, angel tablets in hand, and a dead prophet on the floor.

 

Digging his fingers into the dense layers of salt Gadreel ignored the sting of his (Sam’s?) bleeding fingers until the hole was deep enough. Granules lodged beneath ragged fingernails and threatened to cling eternally as the human soul had. He opened the worn backpack and removed the tablets laying them with reverence in the earth his father had created. The earth he’d damned to hatred, violence, and war with his carelessness. These were his get out of jail free cards. He understood he’d done the wrong thing by joining Metatron now, yet the damage remained.

 

Covering the tablets, he smoothed the sand and stood, long legs unfolding. There were things he needed to rectify; mistakes he’d made that needed the salve of an angel’s touch. After the things he’d done, he didn’t deserve forgiveness, yet this human he walked in demanded it. He gave the mountains one last glance before heading across the blinding white landscape, vanishing in mid-stride as the sound of whispering feathers echoed through the silence.

 

 

***

 

 

Castiel paced the floor, sleeves rolled up and soap bubbles in his wet, tangled hair. Across the room setting on Dean’s bed, Crowley grinned from ear to ear, bouncing like a child who’d just heard the best joke of all time.

 

“Say what you will about Dean Winchester, but his choice of mattress is flawless.”

 

Spinning on his heel, Castiel snarled at Crowley. “Why is everything a joke to you?”

 

Crowley paused in his bouncing and raised one amused brow. “Hello, demon here.”

 

There were times Castiel wanted nothing more than to obliterate every demon in existence, but he didn’t possess the power to do so. Only his father could have done such a thing and he’d already been down that particular road years ago when Lucifer walked the Earth. Unlike the others who now found themselves locked out of Heaven, he remained faithful. He’d seen enough to believe their father was alive, yet he could not understand why he’d not shown himself despite the horrors visited on humanity.

 

The sound of the bathroom door opening drew him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Dean standing in the doorway…clean, fresh shaven, towel slung low on his hips, and steam still rising from his skin. He was thinner than Castiel recalled and his eyes were sunken, delicate skin beneath them darkened from lack of rest yet he was still the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen.

 

“Dean…”

 

He whispered his name almost in reverence, which caught Crowley’s attention. There was something between the angel and the human, something subtle yet damning in his opinion. Neither of them seemed to notice his studious expression though. They looked at one another as if they were both men dying from thirst who’d finally discovered a cold, fresh spring. Crowley had never figured either of the Winchesters for proclivities toward the other side of the fence although he’d taken every opportunity to tease and taunt them. Looking at the angel and human now he wasn’t so sure he’d been right…Or perhaps it was something entirely different.

 

Dean frowned. “Next time I need a bath I’ll do it myself, Cas.”

 

“You were not taking one that’s why…” Castiel began.

 

“Yeah, well I’m clean now.” Dean grumped then glanced toward Crowley. “What the fuck is he doing out of the dungeon?”

 

Castiel sighed. He’d heard the tone in Dean’s voice when he’d said the word clean. It didn’t take an angel to note that or the way he shivered when saying it. He aimed a warning glance toward Crowley who shrugged before standing and excusing himself. Dean watched as he slipped away with narrowed eyes before heading to the dresser.

 

“Dean…”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“You need to though.”

 

Dean spun on Castiel infuriated. “The only thing I need to do is live, die, and pay taxes.”

 

“But you do not pay taxes.”

 

Huffing Dean pulled on a pair of boxer briefs beneath the towel before giving Castiel the stink eye of the century. “Can I have some privacy please?”

 

With a nod, Castiel turned heading for the door. He hesitated in the doorway and glanced back at Dean who was staring at him as if he’d grown a second head.

 

“Privacy, Cas.”

 

“You will have your privacy, Dean, but before I leave I must say one thing.”

 

“What?” Dean growled.

 

A flash of bright light appeared in Castiel’s eyes. “We will talk about Abaddon whether you like it or not.”

 

Then he was gone leaving Dean pale as a ghost.

 

***

 

“Mistress?”

 

Abaddon glanced up from where she sat with the Witch, elaborate crystal decanter of blood red wine between them on the heavy oak table. “What is it?”

 

“Ophelia has returned.”

 

The corner of Abaddon’s lips curled in an amused smirk. “Has she now? And what pray tell has my wicked oracle got to say?”

 

“She is requesting a private meeting.” He shuffled his feet against the stone floor not quite meeting Abaddon’s intense gaze. “What should I tell her?”

 

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “This afternoon, she’ll know what time.”

 

Scuttling like a cockroach from the room, the young demon came close to tripping over his own feet in his hurry to escape her gaze. Abaddon couldn’t help, but to laugh. This was how Hell should be. Those lower class black-eyed idiots needed to know their place. Their place was to serve her and be cannon fodder when required. They should fear her.

 

“Ophelia? Dare I ask?”

 

Her attention drawn back to the Witch, she smiled. “Yes, she is quite useful in more ways than one. Plus she is loyal to the Knights…or rather the last Knight.”

 

Milky eyes focused on Abaddon she hummed deep in thought. “What is it you really want, dear? Dean Winchester or…” she let the unspoken linger between them as she lifted her wine glass.

 

Abaddon snorted. “I’m aware he’s human, but he’s a human who spent forty years in Hell under the tutelage of Alastair, the Grand Inquisitor. Ten of those years, he was Alastair’s star pupil, a torturer himself, and that is not something you forget no matter the quantity or quality of whiskey you drown yourself in to do so.”

 

Taking a sip of her wine the Witch smiled. “Why not take the younger one? His soul from what I understand spent one hundred and eighty years in the Cage with your father and his brother, Michael. I can only imagine how sweet his blood must be. And it was always about the blood with you…was it not?”

 

With a sigh, Abaddon leaned back, black leather boots propped on the table. “Lucifer and Michael were two idiotic children having a tantrum over God only knew what. So busy with being full of themselves their asses were handed to them by two humans and a flighty little angel.”

 

“True, but Lucifer could be quite creative in his day.”

 

Rocking her chair back on two legs, Abaddon took a sip from her glass, eyes drifting shut as she savored the rich woody flavor. “That was then, this is now. His time has come and gone, not to mention he wasted his chance to create Hell on Earth. And please do not get me started with how he left Hell in the hands of a Scottish cockroach who claims to be the King.”

 

“Then what do you imagine you can do to Dean Winchester that hasn’t been done already? Will you seduce him with devilish wiles and sex appeal? Draw out the darkness he’s stomped down for years?”

 

Abaddon inhaled, scent of the wine infusing with her senses and coursing through her blood. When she’d been human it had been far easier to explain things away, but being a Knight of Hell complicated matters. It wasn’t simple human politics no matter what Crowley believed (the irritating little bastard). It was about souls and each soul was different, some far more complex than others. He believed he had the number of humans; understood them far more than he actually did.

 

“Oh, the darkness is already there bubbling right beneath the surface of his soul like molten lava. He embraces it from time to time although he would deny it until his body withers and dies. Alastair died believing he’d found an apt pupil to take his place if it ever came to that. He was right. There was darkness, anger deep and putrid enough inside Dean as to skirt the demonic before Alastair ever laid a single finger on him.”

 

The Witch raised her eyebrows in surprise. “How true could that be? Consider he was born to wear the mantel of an angel and not just any angel.”

 

“Michael is a wicked bastard, heavenly host or not. He betrayed Lucifer and locked him in the Cage without even a fuck you very much. Then there were my brothers and sisters. The Knights were not simple demons. Lucifer handpicked us; powerful and pure blooded, and he slaughtered us as if we were nothing more than cattle. I cannot imagine a better way to thumb my nose at Michael, the holier than thou bag of dicks, than to make his sword my own.”

 

“Lying is unbecoming of one such as you, Abaddon. We both know Michael did not slay your kin. Being _his_ lover was a mistake, but your mistake can benefit you now. What you seek is a prince to sit at your side. Who better to mark your new lover than your old one?”

 

A wicked smirk curled her lips. “Oh, yes...what a delicious idea.”

 

***

 

Gadreel walked into the bar and searched the smoky darkness, eyes settling on Metatron, who sat at the bar, martini in hand. He had no doubt the other angel would be furious he’d hidden both the angel and demon tablets from his greedy paws. Metatron had instructed him to kill the prophet, which he had, and to return the tablets to him, which he wasn’t about to do. He’d been a patsy once and once was enough.

 

He paused and eyed the man behind the bar. His original vessel before he’d convinced Dean Winchester to help him inhabit his brother. It was odd seeing the man in his natural environment. The man turned as if he could feel Gadreel’s eyes on him and Gadreel ducked his head as he took the seat next to Metatron without a word.

 

“Strange isn’t it…Seeing a previous vessel?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Metatron stirred the toothpick in his drink then lifted it, popping the olive between his lips, “The prophet?”

 

“Kevin Tran is dead.”

 

Studying him with narrow eyes, Metatron frowned, “And the tablets?”

 

“They are safe.”

 

“Safe?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Clearing his throat, Metatron leaned in close, teeth gritted. “If I recall I instructed you to bring the tablets to me.”

 

“I chose not to.” Gadreel replied.

 

Metatron let out a wicked snort of a laugh. “You chose? You’re telling me that you chose not to do as instructed. What a shocking surprise there. It seems millennia in Heaven’s dungeon did nothing to correct your obvious flaws, Gadreel. Now where are the tablets?”

 

“They are not yours.” His expression never changed as he stared straight into Metatron’s angry gaze. “I have chosen to protect them against…”

 

“Against what?” he demanded, voice like a snake hissing in Gadreel’s ear, “Against me? You have no idea what or who you are dealing with.”

 

“I am aware of who I am dealing with. I simply do not trust you.”

 

“Trust?”

 

“Yes,” Gadreel replied. “If you wish the best for Heaven as you say and you believe me capable of being your lieutenant then you must trust me.” He thrust his chin forward, shoulders pushed back.

 

He could see the fury in Metatron’s eyes for a split second and then it vanished. “Fine, keep the tablets if it makes you feel less of a joke and more of a warrior. We’ll discuss it later. What of Dean Winchester?”

 

“What of him?”

 

“Is he dead?”

 

“You did not instruct me to kill him…Only the prophet.”

 

Metatron slapped his forehead with his palm, grumbling beneath his breath and then looked up at Gadreel with a disgusted expression. “How are you so dense, Gadreel? You killed the prophet and left the one man standing who has the capability of putting you down like the rabid dog you are.”

 

“I am not an idiot. I am aware of what he is capable of, but I left him broken.”

 

Throwing his head back, Metatron cackled. “Broken? You seriously believe you could accomplish what Alastair, the fucking Grand Inquisitor of Hell, barely managed after three decades of torture. Talk about delusional.”

 

“If you wish to void our agreement then so be it.”

 

A gust of wind rushed through the bar, stirring napkins, and leaving Metatron staring at the empty space where Gadreel had sat. He exhaled and turned waving the bartender over.

 

“Another martini, please, as dirty as you can make it.”

 

The bartender nodded and turned away.

 

“Perhaps, I was wrong in choosing you, Gadreel. Then again, perhaps there’s a chance for you after all.”

 

Taking the offered martini, he grinned with wicked delight.

 

***

 

When Dean finally ventured outside his safe haven for the first time, memories flooded through him, ones of Sam and Kevin. His gut wrenched in a knot so tight he doubted it would ever dissolve. Every corner he turned another memory rose as if a vengeful spirit sent to punish him for his failures. As if Abaddon hadn’t been punishment enough a voice whispered in his ear. Dean shuddered at the memory of her touch and how there was no safety even in his own dreams. There seemed no way to escape from the darkness circling him as if a tornado of evil was forming to consume what was left of his miserable soul.

 

He wandered into the kitchen surprised to find Castiel standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up, and dicing up tomatoes. It seemed odd, but even worse was Crowley sitting at the table sipping coffee while looking through what appeared to be Kevin’s notes. It all seemed just a bit too homey for Dean’s taste.

 

“What the hell is he doing?”

 

Everything came to a standstill when he spoke, voice ragged with exhaustion. Castiel turned and eyed him up and down as if he were evaluating a side of beef. There was a part of Dean, who wanted to scream at them both, but at least Crowley had an excuse. He was a damned demon.

 

“Coffee is fresh, love.” Crowley piped up and then returned to whatever he was doing, “Looks as if you could use a bit of perking up.”

 

Dean rubbed his hands over his face. “And again I’m asking what the ever loving hell is going on.”

 

“Crowley is helping decipher Kevin’s notes on the tablets. It seems he’s quite good with linguistics.”

 

“Kind of a requirement for being the King of the Crossroads considering not everyone speaks English.”

 

Dean felt a migraine coming on. He didn’t want to think about any of it. Not Kevin, Sam, that bastard angel who’d lied to him, and especially not that demonic bitch. He ambled across the room, retrieved a coffee mug from the dish rack. Lifting the coffee pot, he sniffed its contents not sure who’d made it, but he wasn’t taking any chances considering Crowley’s proximity.

 

“Relax, squirrel. Your feathered friend made the coffee not me. Besides, there are more interesting things to do than spike your coffee. When I remove you from this world it’ll be a bit more—How should I say this?—hands on.”

 

Castiel shot him the evil eye and Crowley chuckled. “That look is quite becoming on you, love. Have you ever considered batting for the other team? Oh, yes, that’s right…you did. And we all know how that ended, now don’t we.”

 

“Crowley.” The walls trembled as Castiel spoke.

 

“Jesus,” Dean growled. “Would you two stop with the celestial pissing contest? My head feels like Wile E. Coyote after a run in with the Roadrunner.”

 

Dropping into the chair at the opposite end of the table from Crowley, he took a slow sip of coffee and groaned in pleasure as bitter warmth washed over his taste buds. All he wanted was silence. He figured peace was asking far too much considering his present company. Anything was better than Abaddon being in his head, touching his body, as if she was a normal woman. He took another swallow of coffee shuddering as Castiel joined them. Glancing over the rim of his mug Dean thought Castiel was different somehow. Of course, he could be imagining it. After everything, he didn’t trust his instincts any longer.

 

“We need to talk, Dean.”

 

Sitting the mug down, he refused to look at Castiel preferring to stare into the swirl of black coffee. He knew there was no way to explain why he’d allowed Abaddon to do what she’d done in the woods. It would be impossible for Castiel to understand.

 

“Whatever decisions you made—right or wrong—you did not deserve what Abaddon did. Yes, Kevin is dead, but I believe we can save Sam from whoever has taken him as a vessel.”

 

“Cas…I can’t…”

 

“Look at me, Dean.”

 

He lifted his head, looking up from beneath his lashes. Fear swelled in his gut, not of Castiel, but rather at what he would see in his friends eyes…disgust, disappointment, and anger. It was none of those he saw. Rather there was compassion, love, and a hint of guilt. He knew that look well because Sam had aimed it his way more than once over the years. What he didn’t understand was what Castiel could possibly feel guilt about.

 

“I’m looking.”

 

Castiel exhaled, frustration etched in every line of his face. “We all do stupid things, but this thing with Abaddon makes no sense to me. Why would she…”

 

“She’s trying to draw out what’s been hiding in your boy, Castiel. Didn’t I make that perfectly clear before?”

 

They both turned to Crowley who wasn’t even looking in their direction. He was still flipping through one of the notebooks. Closing the notebook, he glanced up. “What? Oh, for the love of Satan, you are kidding right?”

 

“Shut up.” Dean growled.

 

Crowley leaned back arms folded over his chest and rolled his eyes. “Denial thy name is Dean Winchester. You are aware feather britches pulled your sorry ass from the hot seat…are you not? He saw what you became down in the Pit. Why deny it? As a matter of fact I am certain he even had the audacity to use the skills you acquired to…”

 

“Shut up, Crowley.” Castiel’s voice deepened, walls shuddering again. “Why would any of this have to do with Abaddon?”

 

Crowley raised one eyebrow. “Is there any wonder Heaven fell considering the lot of you angels are clay-brained?” he held up a single finger to silence Castiel before he could speak again. “Abaddon believes she’s the Queen of Hell and what does a queen need but a king to set by her side.”

 

Utter horror flashed across Dean’s face. Abaddon wanted him to rule Hell by her side. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into the floor at the thought…forever twisted into some dark version of Prince Charming. He stood up so fast the room swam around him, chair clattering to the floor, and the urge to vomit overcame him the taste of bile on the back of his tongue.

 

“Dean.”

 

The weight of Castiel’s hand on his shoulder caused him to shudder. Flashes of his time in Alastair’s hands rose along with the bile, his body feeling as if it were going to collapse into a million shards of blood soaked bone. He couldn’t go back there…He wouldn’t go back.

 

Stumbling back, he wrenched his arm away from Castiel’s gentle touch. Everything he’d done in the Pit; every slice of flayed skin, millions of shattered bones, and gallons of crimson blood spilled flickered across the back of his eyelids. For years, he’d pushed it down into the deepest corners of his mind and tried to drown it in gallons of whiskey. The screams of the first soul he’d broken after climbing off the rack echoed in his ears as he tripped over his own feet trying to escape the thought of what Abaddon wanted.

 

Someone else was screaming, voice unrecognizable to him as he fell to the ground. In his blind panic, blood roaring through his veins Dean believed he was there again. Thousands of razor sharp claws tearing at his naked flesh, demanding sustenance from his blood as it flooded across volcanic rock and the yellowed bones of those who came before. He dug his fingers into the earth beneath dragging his broken body across what amounted to an open mass grave of rotting corpses. The putrid stench drilled so deep into what remained of him not even ammonia could obliterate it.

 

Inside his head, a single word repeated with no end in sight.

 

And then he saw it. Rising from the mass of decomposing flesh a skeletal figure appeared, organs crawling up bony legs, muscle and flesh curling around and then skin began to slither across the raw muscle. He tasted vomit in his mouth. One long graceful arm reached out toward him as a bone chilling wind swept through the Pit, stirring up the smell of death, shit, and piss. The thing’s lipless mouth opened and laughter erupted from it, echoing along bloody walls.

 

“Dean…”

 

His name was a welcoming benediction on the thing’s forked tongue.

 

As he prayed for escape, an intense light began to swell between them. It shielded him from the horror seeking to claim him and then everything blinked out of existence.

 

***

 

Just inside the line of trees, Gadreel stood staring up at the towering building. Beneath its foundation was hidden the one place he’d never believed he would return. There was a part of him that feared returning here; he had plenty reasons to fear returning after all.

 

Deep inside his vessel he heard the whisper of the soul he’d tricked and he wondered if Sam Winchester even knew what was going on. In his long existence, he’d never taken a human vessel for he’d never needed one. Until the fall occurred, he’d only heard whispers from others in Heaven’s prison how one took a vessel. He’d gone against the rules though. Desperation caused one to bend the rules. He’d been positive the guards would come for him, drag him back to the hell he’d experienced since the dawn of time, but then he’d learned the truth from Metatron. There would be no guards coming to imprison him once more in the darkness. There were no angels in Heaven for they all walked the earth now.

 

He slipped from the trees and moved down the incline toward the tunnel door leading deep below the ground to the bunker hidden beneath. The last time he’d been here he’d taken a human life, killed what amounted to a child without a second thought and he’d done it because Metatron had demanded it. It was a fool’s errand and he was the fool. At first Metatron had seemed earnest in his plans, but then Gadreel had looked into Dean Winchester’s eyes. As he did, the realization Metatron was using him to get what he wanted dawned on him.

 

It was the Garden all over again.

 

The serpent this time though was Metatron…Not Lucifer.

 

How could he have been so blind? The ache in his gut grew the longer he considered the consequences of his actions. They were not the actions of an angel seeking redemption from the father he’d disappointed , but rather the desperate attempts of a broken angel to find his way back to the righteous path. Inside the whisper of Sam’s soul wove through his veins and another realization came to him. He and Sam had more in common than he could have imagined.

 

***

 

Castiel had no idea what to do as Dean slipped from one reality to another. He could see where Dean believed he was…Trapped in Hell at the tender mercies of Alastair once more. Surrounded by demons who sought to taste his flesh and drink his blood. Demons who desired to impress the Grand Inquisitor with their imaginative tortures if but for a moment in time.

 

He grasped Dean’s biceps struggling to control his flailing arms as Crowley in all his helpful wickedness watched with curious eyes. It mattered not what he did or how deep he sought to dig into Dean’s mind it seemed he was lost in the memories of Hell.

 

“His humanity is fighting against the darkness.”

 

Castiel looked up at the sound of an all too familiar voice. Fury filled, vengeful and burning bright with wrath he looked on the last person he’d expected to see in this place.

 

“Who are you? I don’t recognize you.”

 

Sam’s body crossed the space separating them and knelt next to Dean’s convulsing form. “You would not know me.” He lowered one hand to Dean’s brow, his eyes filled with regret for what he’d done. “I was hidden in the darkest bowels of Heaven’s dungeon for what I did.”

 

Crowley piped up from where he’d been hiding beneath the table. “Gadreel, Gatekeeper of the Garden.”

 

Gut twisting, Castiel reached out grabbing Gadreel’s wrist and the other angel lifted his head, eyes glowing silver-blue beneath the tangle of Sam’s long hair. Their gazes met and Castiel’s anger increased three-fold as he stared into the eyes that had damned humanity for all eternity.

 

“You son of a bitch!” he growled. “You’re the cause of all of this! You destroyed everything our father created because you left your post!”

 

His free hand swung out, fingers folded in a tight fist and connected with Gadreel’s jaw sending him sprawling. Gadreel glanced up rubbing his jaw, head cocked to the side as he studied Castiel with eerie celestial eyes.

 

“I deserved that. I deserve far more for my betrayal.”

 

Castiel was on his feet in a flash of movement. “You are the vilest of things. I should destroy you where you stand for the crimes you committed.”

 

“But you will not.”

 

“And why wouldn’t I?”

 

“Because this human I inhabit is your friend and I can assist you in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine. And because I can pull Dean Winchester from the dark memories that you cannot pull him from.”

 

“How could you…?”

 

Gadreel’s eyes softened, “Because I have lived with Hell since the dawn of time.”

 

***

 

Lost…he was lost in the most unimaginable way. Lost to the wickedness and darkness of a Hell no human alive could ever imagine. He was captive to the stench of evil and rot associated with a recent grave…shreds of decomposing flesh clinging to liquefied muscle and brittle bone.

 

The thing standing before him resembled something familiar. Skin flowed along bloody musculature to hide from his sight the truth of where he was lost. It appeared to be a woman, skin slick and shiny as a newborn fresh from its mother’s womb. A flow of crimson hair began to grow from its bald scalp, flowing down creamy shoulder as if a waterfall of blood.

 

So fucking familiar and yet…

 

She lifted both hands, a graceful movement as perfect as the world’s finest ballerina and stepped from the mounds of ruined flesh and bone.

 

“Dean…”

 

He tried to speak, but the words his mind formed refused to be voiced. This place, this illusion of beauty amongst the decay of death and horror was a nightmare given physical form. None of this could be real because Castiel rescued him from Hell, resurrected his body, returned him to his…

 

“Sam?” he choked out as the blinding light returned, separating him from what could only be a demonic seductress bent on his domination.

 

The woman hissed, eyes turning pitch black.

 

Sam stood there, features calm and measured, and then he turned away from Dean, attention focused on the demon. His eyes lit up like twin beacons in his face, flashes of spiritual light.

 

“He is not for you.”

 

It was Sam’s voice and yet it was not. The tone held power unlike anything Dean had ever heard and then he knew. This was the bastard angel who killed Kevin and took his brother from him. Tears welled in his eyes as he recalled the moment what remained of his shredded soul dissipated into the ether, nothing but dust on the wind.

 

A deep roar pulled him from the memory and what he saw stole the breath from his lungs. The woman was now something far more sinister, jointed legs of a goat, skin scaled like that of a snake, and cloven hooves. Her hair had become living fire, whipping around her head as the angel wearing Sam’s skin lashed out at her with holy light.

 

“Your father tricked me. Took from me what I should not have given so easy. Hell has many faces, demon. You are but one of them.”

 

“Mine…” it hissed with a lashing tongue. “He belongs to us.”

 

“Never, bitch!”

 

The light grew in intensity until it blinded Dean. He threw up one bare arm, clenching his eyes shut, and gritted his teeth as the demon screamed, cursing the halls of Heaven.

 

And then there was…

 

***

 

Dean sat up gasping for air, eyes wide as saucers, and arms flailing. The last thing he recalled was the stench of corruption and Sam consumed with righteous light. Now there was a familiar and concerned set of vibrant blue eyes. The color reminded him of bear grass or forget-me-nots, but brighter somehow. The color soothed his terror, as did the touch he felt, hand encircling his own and thumb stroking the thin skin stretched taunt across his knuckles.

 

He blinked and the face before him came into focus.

 

“Cas…” he whispered.

 

“Yes.”

 

“But I was in…there was so much…”

 

Castiel hushed him with a nonsensical sound as he drew him to his feet. His legs wobbled like a newborn calf beneath his weight as Castiel shifted, strong arm wrapped around his back, and fingers gripping his bicep. Inside, hidden within the cage of his ribs he could feel his heart pounding still, lungs filling and emptying of oxygen far faster than they should.

 

“You need to calm yourself.” Castiel whispered against his ear. “I believe this is what humans call a panic attack.”

 

Yes, it was a panic attack, but the panic had only settled in when he believed he was back there. The lightless caverns of horror he’d once spent forty years in not so long ago. He’d believed for one dreadful moment Hell had returned to claim her price…

 

“Abaddon.” the name stuck in his throat, shattered piece of bone to sharp to swallow.

 

Castiel raised one eyebrow as he settled Dean in a chair, kneeling before him concern clear in those mesmerizing eyes. “Abaddon is not here nor will she be allowed to enter.”

 

Shaking his head, Dean gripped Castiel’s hands, palms slick with perspiration. He lifted his head and licked his parched lips. “No,” he managed in a raspy tone. “She was there.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Before…when I was in Hell before you came for me. Abaddon was one of the demons in Alastair’s embrace.”

 

From the corner of the kitchen where he’d retreated to pour a glass of whiskey Crowley snorted. “It’s not impossible. Cain did have Alastair’s help when he trained the bloody Knights.”

 

“Cain?” Castiel glanced to where Crowley leaned against the counter. “You dare speak his name?”

 

“I dare a great deal. Hello, need I remind you I’m a demon…again?” he tossed back the whiskey and poured another, hands visibly shaking.

 

“I would ask what you two are fussing about, but my head feels like a hot air balloon right now.” Dean exhaled as he rubbed at the pulse of pain forming between his eyebrows.

 

“They speak of the only creature outside of me who might be reviled more.”

 

Dean swallowed hard as he turned in the chair. There leaning against the kitchen wall was Sam, but not Sam. His gut twisted into a massive knot and he forced the urge to vomit down. The last time he’d laid eyes on his brother it had been when Kevin died—no murdered—at the hands of the thing possessing Sam.

 

Before either Castiel or Crowley could react, he was out of the chair and across the room. Blade drawn from beneath his shirt, Dean pressed the razor edge to Sam’s throat, eyes burning with bitterness and hate. He inhaled sharp through his nose, blade pressing closer until blood beaded along the edge. The angel stared straight into his eyes, face a blank slate and Dean wanted so bad to peel that face off because he had no right wearing it.

 

“Dean…” Castiel’s soft plea came from behind him.

 

“No, Cas, just no. He fucking killed Kevin and he…killed…”

 

“Your brother is not dead, Dean.”

 

“You said there was no more Sam.”

 

The angel tipped his head to the side (God help him it was Sam, but it wasn’t) and lowered his gaze as if he actually felt something. The bastard was lying again, but not with words. He was lying with Sam’s face, his eyes, and body. Dean’s hand began to tremble as he tightened his grip on the blade’s handle, palm slicked with sweat.

 

“I lied. Sam is still here. He is weak, but not gone.”

 

Dean wanted to believe him. Looking into Sam’s eyes he wanted to believe so fucking bad it was an ache in his chest, but the bastard would say anything to save his ass.

 

“The knife you hold will not kill me. All you would do is kill my vessel, your brother, and then your guilt would finish what the Knight began. Ask Castiel if you do not believe me. He can tell you if my words are lies…Can you not, Brother.”

 

Fists clenched Castiel stepped around into Dean’s line of sight. Dean almost flinched at the fury he saw in every line of his friend’s face. He watched eyes wide as Castiel stepped close enough his nose came damn near to touching Sam’s face. Seconds ticked by even though it felt an eternity to Dean.

 

“You are no brother of mine, Gadreel.” He hissed teeth clenched before turning to Dean. “Yet, he speaks the truth. As I suspected Sam’s soul remains here, weak though he might be.”

 

“Let him go.” Dean growled eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Let my brother go.”

 

Gadreel released a quiet breath. “I cannot. Yes, I lied about his destruction, but I did not lie about the damage done to his body. If I were to leave now he would not survive.”

 

Drawing back the knife, Dean turned away the tears at last falling although he was unsure who they were for this time. He’d lost Kevin, Sam, and even himself. Perhaps, they were for them all.

 

***

 

Abaddon stood at the end of the dirt road, eyes focused on the farmhouse in the distance. Even this far away she could smell the honey, hear the song of the bees, and underneath it all, she could feel his power. She hated to admit he was the only one who’d ever gotten beneath her skin…That was until Dean Winchester had come along. She recalled the first time she’d laid eyes on Cain. Damn God to Hell, but he’d been a magnificent specimen. Tall and slender, thick lush waves of silver streaked black hair, full beard, and his eyes…intense, clear, and a shade of blue no man or demon had a right to possess. When Cain looked at you those eyes bore straight to the core of who you were.

 

Witnessing him in battle though was the most awe-inspiring thing about him. Those who saw him lead the Knights of Hell across the human landscape never forgot his power and grace. Standing here though in the middle of a muddy road, morning mist rising along the open fields, in this place named Missouri she had to wonder how it had all went to pot in an instant. The Witch had told her where to find him and she’d believed it to be utter nonsense. Now she knew it to be true.

 

“How far the mighty have fallen,” she whispered.

 

“You shouldn’t have come.”

 

Spinning on her heel, Abaddon meet his steel, blue gaze, and she remembered. Memories of destruction, bloodshed, and murderous rage, but now all she saw was regret, anger, and a world-weariness her Cain never possessed. If she still possessed a human heart, it would have broken at the sight of her once magnificent warrior rotting away in the human world.

 

“Do you still wish to kill me?”

 

His expression never changed as he lifted the sawed-off shotgun, aiming for her heart. “This might not kill you, but it’ll shred what’s left of the heart in your meat suit.” He loaded a round into the barrel eyes never leaving her face.

 

“Cain, you were always a dramatic fool. What would a single round accomplish?”

 

“It would make me feel better.” He snarled.

 

Abaddon stepped closer the cold barrel pressed to her breast, gaze lifted to his face. “Then do it, lover…”

 

He did to her surprise.

 

Roaring in fury her eyes went black as the force of the blast threw her backward into a mud hole, rancid water soaking her clothes and hair. “Dammit! What the hell is wrong with you? I liked this jacket.”

 

The corner of Cain’s lips curved in a smirk beneath his beard. “Just gave you what you wanted, Abaddon. You always were a whore who thought she was better than the other whores.”

 

She pushed up from the ground, eyes narrowing to ebony slits. “You cannot still be pissed about your human whore.”

 

Wrath flared in his eyes, bitterness in each word he spoke. “She was my wife you sleazy piece of shit. You were the cause of her death.”

 

“Then kill me you coward!” she shrieked. “Do what you swore you would.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

Cain walked past her, gun on his shoulder, not even sparing a glance in her direction. “You heard me, Abaddon. I will be the one who chooses the time and place of your destruction…No one else.”

 

“Fuck you, Cain! Fuck you and all your righteous crap!”

 

When Cain turned back, Abaddon was gone. He released a frustrated breath. For over a century, he’d managed to stay beneath Hell’s radar keeping the promise he’d made to his dying wife. How Abaddon had located him didn’t matter, but she had and it wasn’t a good sign. It didn’t matter what the bitch wanted or why she’d came. If she’d found him others would follow.

 

Turning back to the house he hissed as a burning sensation travelled along his arm. He dropped the gun to the ground and pushed up his sleeve. Beneath the mark glowed a faint crimson and he frowned. Now he understood. There was another. Someone, who as himself, had sacrificed everything to save his brother, a killer at heart, and a human soul tainted by the flames of Hell, awaiting an answer only Cain could provide.

 

***

 

“He did not give you a chance.”

 

It was a statement rather than a question and it pissed off Abaddon even more than Cain already had in their brief encounter. “He fucking shot me.”

 

The Witch’s lips curved in an amused smile. “Did you expect anything less from The Father of Murder? What you did was the dumbest thing you could have possibly done. You possessed and directly caused the death of his human wife.”

 

Abaddon snorted as she peeled of the ruined jacket, dropping it to the floor of her chambers. “She was nothing…a weak, rancid human whore.”

 

“Be that as it may her love inspired him to destroy your brethren.”

 

Eyes drifting to the reflection of the Witch over her shoulder in the mirror, Abaddon’s shoulders slumped forward. The bitch was right. At the time she’d possessed Cain’s wife she’d let her own jealousy get the better of her. She recalled what love was like for humans. It had far more power over them than any other emotion. Throughout human history, it was the inspiration of artists, musicians, poets, yet it had its dark side as well. The passion it created had inspire war and murder as well.

 

Running her fingers through her damp hair, Abaddon turned to the Witch. “So, how in the hell am I supposed to get him to do what I want when he’d rather dissect me like a bug.”

 

“Ophelia has the answer.”

 

Abaddon’s eyes lit up, mouth twisting in a wide smile. “Now how did I forget about Ophelia?”

 

“I imagine it was because you were thinking with something other than your brain, my dear.”

 

Throwing back her head, Abaddon let out a wild laugh. She was right yet again. Abaddon had allowed her overpowering lust for Dean blind her to the obvious. And then there was Cain…she’d never truly let go of him even after he’d murdered her brothers and sisters. She should have killed the bastard when she’d had the chance, but she hadn’t and now she was glad of it. He was going to do what she wanted, she’d make sure of it come hell or high water.

 

***

 

Castiel lingered outside the door unsure if he should knock or not. After Gadreel confessed his sins so to speak, after Dean had turned away, Sam’s blood staining the edge of the silver blade in his hand, he had vanished from sight without a single word. Castiel knew where he’d gone, as he always knew. It was the single place Dean felt safe especially when he wanted to hide from the world.

 

Taking a calming breath, he pushed open the door with a determined look and entered the garage. His footsteps echoed against the cavernous ceiling as he moved down the wide aisle between the vehicles that sat silent and dusty awaiting their next ride out into the world. Dean knew he was there for he did not attempt to hide his approach. There had been a time when he would have simply travelled the ether, folding time and space to find Dean. That was before he’d become human though. Being human had opened his eyes in a way years beside the Winchesters had not.

 

Dean was sitting on the hood of the Impala, back against her spotless windshield, and bloodstained knife lying across his thighs. He was staring up at the ceiling, lost expression on his pale face, and fingers tracing back and forth across the length of the blade in his lap. Seeing Dean like this made his heart cry with regret. Had he not trusted Metatron he would have been there at the church the night Sam had attempted to close the gates of Hell forever. He would have been able to help Sam when the damage done had shown itself. Perhaps he wouldn’t have healed him completely, but he could have healed him enough to give them time to find a better answer than Gadreel.

 

“It was beautiful and terrifying all at the same time…you know?”

 

“What was?” he inquired at Dean’s faint words.

 

He lowered his gaze to where Castiel stood, cheeks wet from the tears he’d shed, “When the angels fell from Heaven.”

 

Taking a couple of steps forward Castiel nodded, “Yes, I know. Metatron hurled me to Earth before he cast the spell. I saw them fall…” his words trailed off as Dean glanced back toward the cavernous ceiling.

 

“How could I do that to Sam?”

 

“You did what you had to, Dean.”

 

Dean swallowed hard, eyes red-rimmed from all the tears he’d shed. “But it wasn’t what Sam wanted. Sam wanted to die. He was ready to die. And then I let that monster trick him into saying yes.”

 

“Why would Sam wish to die?”

 

Exhaling, Dean grasped the knife and slid down the hood of his baby, “Because…I made him feel that way. He lied to me about why he wanted to do the trials. He fucking knew he would die if he completed them.”

 

“How could he know, Dean? We didn’t even know if Naomi was telling the truth.”

 

Dean shook his head, broken laughter crackling past his lips. Leave it up to Castiel to underestimate Sam even more than he had in the past. Sam was brighter than even he had given him credit for over the years. Sure, he’d done some stupid shit, but who among them hadn’t?

 

“He knew, Cas. Trust me when I say he knew from the beginning. He never intended to be around after the gates closed. Maybe he believed he would find forgiveness for his imagined sins. All I know is that I fucked up and now he might die anyway.”

 

**Castiel approached Dean as if he were a wild animal. “He is safe for now.”

 

Disbelief showed in every inch of Dean’s face when he turned to face Castiel who’d leaned against the car next to him, “Seriously, Cas? Even you despise this Gadreel. I can see it in your eyes.”

 

“It matters not how I feel about Gadreel. For now, his presence assures Sam’s continued existence. What concerns me more is why he chose to return. After what he did he must have known he would not be welcome.”

 

Dean cleared his throat, swiping at the drying tears on his face. “Maybe that was the entire point.”

 

Deep frown creasing his brow, Castiel glanced at the ceiling. “Explain.”

 

“Maybe,” Dean pushed off the bumper eyes focused on the blade in his hand, “Gadreel wanted me to kill him.”

 

“Why would he want death?”

 

“Guilt over killing Kevin,” Dean offered. “If Sam is still in there I’m damned sure he’s whispering in Gadreel’s ear. Sam was always good with the guilt trips.”

 

***

 

Standing over the scrying pool of blood, Abaddon watched Dean and Castiel their image wavering like a 1970’s television with rabbit ears. She cursed the bastards who’d created warding against demons and demonic magic. Behind where she stood, the faint click of heels echoed as she released a frustrated breath, hand waving over the image to dissipate it.

 

“What do you have for me, Ophelia?”

 

Ophelia’s voice was something cold and inhuman, almost mechanical as she spoke. “You wish for Cain to pass on the Mark to the human you desire.”

 

She snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know already, seer.”

 

“Passing the Mark was something never meant to happen. Lucifer made Cain what he is, but he had nothing to do with the darkling human you seek as your second in command. You are interfering in things you cannot possibly understand.”

 

Abaddon turned toward Ophelia eyes flashing black. “Who are you to tell me what I can understand?”

 

Cold, solid blue eyes focused on Abaddon. “I am a child of sin, cursed since birth for what I am and the blood that flows through my veins. I am the last of my kind, advisor to kings and generals. Lucifer’s second in command, saved from death by the fallen archangel’s hand before his imprisonment. You would do well, demon, to remember this.”

 

“You have always been full of yourself, Ophelia. I am well aware of what you are.”

 

Ophelia stepped forward, hair of silver flame streaming out behind her, and eyes taking on a bright glow. “Then you know the power I hold. I choose to serve Hell and you, Abaddon…I choose. If I am to continue serving you must show me the respect I am owed.”

 

“You wish respect then give me the answers I seek.”

 

Full lips curving into a diabolical smile, Ophelia stepped even closer. “When the angels fell from their celestial home the dungeons of Heaven opened as well.”

 

Abaddon lifted one eyebrow, “Dungeons?”

 

“Yes, and from their darkest depths the most defiant of angels outside of Lucifer were freed from their imprisonment.” Ophelia’s eyes began to glow brighter with each word she spoke. “Knight of Hell do you know the story of the Garden? How one of God’s most trusted allowed Lucifer to cross the threshold?”

 

“Gadreel.” she whispered.

 

“Yes…Gadreel the Gatekeeper. He whose actions resulted in the ultimate destruction of humanity and all God had hoped for them. If not for the Gatekeeper then humanity would have lived up to God’s expectations. His creation would have been perfection and Hell would never have come to pass.”

 

“Then he walks the Earth?”

 

Ophelia’s lips twisted in a knowing smirk. “Oh, he does more than walk the Earth. He has claimed a vessel…one you know far better than you might think.”

 

“Who has he claimed?”

 

“Sam Winchester.”

 

Abaddon’s eyes lit up, “The brother…now it makes sense. Gadreel destroyed my soldiers all those weeks ago. Gadreel was Dean’s backup.”

 

“But, now Dean knows who he truly is and he would do anything to get Gadreel out of his brother.”

 

“Gadreel was the one who killed the prophet, but why?” Abaddon frowned, gnawing her lip.

 

Ophelia chuckled, the first human thing she’d done since entering the room. “Because, my dear Abaddon, he is as desperate as Dean to fix what he has broken.”

 

***

 

A demon and an angel walk into a bar. Or rather in this case a bunker.

 

Either way it sounded like a bad joke, Crowley thought as he poured another shot of Craig for himself, eyes never losing their focus on Sam or rather Gadreel. Had he known it was Gadreel possessing Sam he might have called the angel out, but then again…

 

Sam had always been imposing in height and strength, yet this new Sam, the one possessed by Gadreel was terrifying if he were to be honest. The angel stood, silent and spine ramrod straight, across the room eyes focused on some mystery spot above Crowley’s head. He hadn’t spoken since Castiel left the room and Crowley was wishing Castiel had invited him along now. Gadreel never blinked, he didn’t even seem to breathe, his claimed body so still one might believe him carved from marble.

 

“What would you have me speak of, demon?”

 

Crowley came close to pissing himself when Gadreel spoke. He tossed back his Craig with a harsh swallow. The burn of the whiskey was comforting, a soothing balm to his nerves. Demons weren’t idiots despite what the Winchesters might believe. From the moment Hell claimed a human soul the other demons drilled the fear of angels into them, Crowley had been no different. Angels were the boogey men under the bed for those who’d turned their back on God. Although, as the years passed, being the stubborn and single-minded Scot he was, Crowley begun to doubt the existence of such creatures until Mesopotamia.  

 

Somewhere in those muddled thoughts, Crowley found the balls to speak to Gadreel. “You killed my prophet.”

 

Gadreel blinked, his head tipping down so his borrowed eyes focused on Crowley. “Kevin Tran was not _your_ prophet. He was a prophet of the Lord and I am ashamed of what I did.”

 

“Ashamed?” shock bloomed in Crowley’s expression. “Perhaps I’m mistaken, but I was under the impression angels did not possess emotion with the exception of old blue eyes,” He shrugged his shoulder in the direction Castiel had vanished. “And of course Lucy, God rest his arrogant ass.”

 

“We possess all the humans possess.”

 

Crowley hummed, deep in thought, “Really, Gigantor? That is quite the revelation.” It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known that all ready, but there was something different about Gadreel. Something far more human than most of the feather dusters he’d had the displeasure to meet.

 

Gadreel’s eyebrows drew together in a familiar expression. “Why would you call me…Gigantor? That is not my name.”

 

“Sorry, love. A simple slip of the tongue being as you chose to possess my favorite hunter.”

 

Like a curious cat checking out a mouse, Gadreel tilted his head. “You like Sam?”

 

Crowley snorted. “As much as a demon can like a human. Admire is a better choice of descriptor. Cannot help, but admire a human ballsy enough to take on Lucifer and win.”

 

Gadreel’s eyes widened. “He is the one destined to be Lucifer’s vessel?”

 

“Was…” Crowley corrected. “You really have been locked away since the dawn of time.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“The Apocalypse has come and gone, Gadreel. Sam and his brother saw to that quite some time ago.”

 

“Lucifer and Michael?”

 

“Never happened…Oh, don’t get me wrong they tried their damnedest…”

 

Gadreel frowned.

 

“…but darling Sam there, he chose to say yes to Lucifer and then he took control.”

 

“That is impossible.”

 

Crowley smirked. “You say po-ta-toe and I say po-tay-toe. Point being is Moose jumped in the Cage and pulled Michael right in with him.”

 

Gadreel’s expression fell, eyes filled with confusion. “But if he threw himself into the Cage then how can he be here?”

 

“Long story, love, and we have more important concerns at the moment.”

 

“What could be more important than the failure of my father’s final plan?”

 

“We need to save Dean from that skanky whore Abaddon.”

 

The look on Gadreel’s face was far closer to Sam than it had been since the angel had entered the bunker. And it was then Crowley understood Gadreel hadn’t lied. Sam was still in there.

 

“What does she want with my brother?”

 

“Moose?”

 

“Damn it, Crowley, who the hell else would it be?” Sam’s eyes bored through him. “And who the fuck let you in here?”

 

This entire thing was way beyond a bad joke. It was confusing as the night after a drunken bachelor party in fact. Crowley stood there staring at who was most definitely Sam Winchester and only seconds prior had been Gadreel. From what he’d gathered, Dean had allowed Gadreel to trick Sam into letting him in, but Sam seemed oblivious to the fact an angel was squatting in him.

 

“Answer me!” Sam growled crossing the room, hands tangling in Crowley’s lapels.

 

Crowley blinked in confusion. “What?”

 

“I said…” Sam leaned in lifting Crowley off his feet, “What does Abaddon want with Dean? And how the hell are you even in here?”

 

“Back off there, Moose. No need to wrinkle the suit.” He pushed Sam off dropping back to the floor and smoothing his jacket. “What is the last thing you remember?”

 

Sam’s face scrunched up. “I…there…”

 

“Now, think real hard.”

 

It was apparent now he had no idea what was going on. The confusion and fear shining in Sam’s eyes might have boggled Crowley had he not been aware of the entire cluster fuck. He contemplated letting the big lug swing in the wind, but Satan help him he simply couldn’t stand it.

 

“Do you remember the church?” he flinched at that particular memory.

 

Sam swallowed hard. “Yeah, the trials…”

 

“You remember Dean coming in?”

 

Eyes going wide Sam licked his lips, nerves on edge from the confusion. He nodded unable or unwilling to trust the words lingering on his tongue. He remembered Dean convincing him to stop and then everything became a horrifying blur. He glanced up at Crowley, hands trembling.

 

“The angels fell.”

 

“Yeah, they did.”

 

His brow furrowed as he searched his mind for what had happened then. There was nothing. Not even a glimpse of how he’d gotten back to the bunker. It felt as if his mind had become a swirling riptide of blackness. And then there was a flash...

 

***

He was standing in the middle of what appeared a desert of endless white. Above the sky curved like an upside down bowl of blown glass, sheer blue, no sign of a cloud in sight. It felt as if he were dreaming, outside his body and yet…

 

***

 

He gasped as he snapped back into the present more confused than ever. Crowley was watching him with bright eyes, curious he imagined as to what it was he’d seen.

 

“Salt,” he whispered. “I was in a desert of salt that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was as if I were dreaming.”

 

“Look deeper. Remember…”

 

Crowley’s voice was hypnotic causing his eyes to drift shut.

 

“Remember everything.”

 

***

 

It was a jumble of flashes now. First the desert of salt and then mountains rising high into the sky, shadows reaching out toward him across the brilliance of the sunlit salt crystals.

 

Then there was a stormy sky filled with streaks of fire…Meteor shower.

 

Dean’s voice echoed in his head.

 

_Angels. They’re falling…_

 

A forest of rich greens surrounded him and in the distance stood a cabin. He felt at peace…

 

 _I consider it quite the honor to be collecting the likes of Sam Winchester. I try so hard not to pass judgment at times like this, not my bag you see, but you? Well played my boy_ …

 

***

 

“Death…Death was there.”

 

It was with that particular revelation Sam realized something wasn’t quite right nor had it been for a very long time. Something had happened that night at the church, something that had drawn Death to him. He sucked in a ragged breath and stumbled back against the wall, body shaking with the effort to remain upright. His guts felt like they were on fire, twisted into a mass of raw oozing flesh.

 

“What’s happening to me?” His voice came out as if he were a frightened five-year-old child who’d just had the most horrifying nightmare. “What happened in the church?”

 

Crowley felt for the boy. Everything Sam and his brother had done to interfere in his plans, one after another, and yet he felt for the boy. He shuddered at the feeling and his own memories of that night in the church. If Abaddon even got an inkling of what he’d become there would be no way he would win the war for Hell’s throne. He’d known from the moment Dean had stuffed him in the trunk. Even if the final Trial had been incomplete, Sam still succeeded in changing him.

 

“You were dying.”

 

“But, the trial…I stopped. Dean convinced me to stop.”

 

“That he did, Moose, but the damage had already been done. No, darling Castiel to fix the broken toy and so Squirrel did the only thing he could.”

 

Sam’s eyes went wide, white visible all around the iris as another voice entered his head. This time though it was no memory, but rather someone or something inside him.

 

_There is no need to fear or fight me, Sam. I am the one who saved you from certain death. My name is…_

 

“Gadreel,” Sam sighed. “My name is Gadreel and I never meant any harm. I will fix what I’ve done.”

 

***

 

Dean stood in the door of his room. The place he’d come to consider his sanctuary, but now it seemed tainted by his nightmares and Abaddon’s ability to haunt them. Only angels had shown themselves to him in the dream world before.

 

“I’m never going to find peace…Am I?”

 

Castiel sighed as he reached out, hand settling in a gesture of comfort on Dean’s shoulder. “You cannot think like that. We will stop Abaddon and save Sam.”

 

Gaze lowering to the floor Dean tried to find some glimmer of hope within, but there seemed to be nothing except darkness, death, and grief. “It’s my fault…all of it…Gadreel, Abaddon, Sam, and Kevin. If I’d just taken a minute to think things through maybe Kevin would still be alive, maybe Sam wouldn’t be a fucking angel condom.”

 

“We all make mistakes, Dean. That doesn’t mean we’re damned to Hell.”

 

He laughed and the bitter anger of it worried Castiel. His time as a human had taught him far more about what is was like for humans. In his ignorance, he believed he understood human emotion, but he hadn’t understood…not really. It was like looking at a blueprint, reading the details, and assuming you could build the structure laid out on those blueprints. The concept he understood. The reality though far removed from the concept.

 

What he did next was something he didn’t understand. Actually, he did understand, but it was easier to lie about his reasons. Far easier to lie because it wasn’t as if his father was there to punish him for the unthinkable. Heaven’s doors closed, out of business, and the owner had skipped town long ago. Was sin even a possibility now? He’d known for a long time how he felt about Dean, but he hadn’t understood until he’d walked a mile in human shoes.

 

Castiel let his hand slide down from Dean’s shoulder to his wrist, fingers grasping the warm bare skin he found there. Looking up from the floor, Dean met his intense gaze, a questioning light flaring in their beautiful depths. Then he was moving in, a snake striking. Their lips met and for a moment Dean froze, eyes shining as Castiel kissed him with everything he had. When Dean didn’t reciprocate, he thought perhaps he’d done the wrong thing.

 

Drawing back, head tipped, Castiel looked deep into Dean’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

 

Before he could finish, Dean was pulling him in, their lips meeting again. This time Dean was more than willing to offer reciprocation. Castiel felt his breathe pulled from his lungs, his vessel’s heart pounding in his ears and he tasted Dean’s lips, salty with the tears he’d shed earlier. Dean’s fingers dug into the material of his shirt, nails biting into the skin of his back, and Castiel bit down on the soft flesh of Dean’s lower lip. The taste of fresh coppery blood teased his tongue as the skin split, but Dean didn’t seem to notice as the kiss continued.

 

When neither of them could breathe, the kiss broke. The muffled sound of thunder seeped into the bunker as they stared into one another’s eyes. There were no words for what had just transpired between them. Dean had never thought of another man…Not in that way at least. It crossed his mind that perhaps Sam had been right all those years ago when he’d asked him why everyone assumed he and Sam were gay.

 

_Well, you are kind of butch. They probably think you're overcompensating…_

 

Dean smiled for the first time since Kevin’s death at the memory of his brother’s words. “Never say you’re sorry, Cas. You have nothing to be sorry for…do you understand me?”

 

***

 

Abaddon stared into the scrying pool, eyes black as tar, and face twisted in fury. How dare that feathered slut touch what was hers? It was one thing to interfere in her games, but this…this was stepping over the line.

 

Head thrown back she screamed at the heavens, the walls and floor vibrating with her power.

 

It was the last mistake Castiel would ever make.

 

***

 

Cain pushed back the beekeeper’s hat he wore, face turning skyward at the sound of thunder. What had once been clear blue was now a frothing mass of black, gray, and putrid green. Lightning ripped through the clouds and splintered a tree at the edge of the property, branches bursting into flame. He wandered across the yard eyes locked on the swirling storm as it finally broke, rain drenching the earth in sheets of silver.

 

A knowing expression crossed Cain’s face, corner of his mouth curving up beneath his beard as he blinked the rain from his eyes. As he’d suspected Abaddon had been up to no good. She’d always been the most conniving of his Knights, the brightest, and deadliest. It was who she’d been when she walked the Earth as a human and it was the reason Lucifer had chosen her from among so many across the ages. Cain was no fool. Once he’d underestimated her and it had cost his dear, sweet Colette her life at his hands. Even now a century later he could feel her blood on them.

 

Whatever Abaddon was planning he was not going to be a part of it. Manipulated by the bitch once was all it had taken.

 

Perhaps, the time had come to end her once and for all.


End file.
